Reis pulled out his Palm Pilot again. "That Watkins kid has dark hair."
Nikki winced. "Which he colors according to his mood."
"His father has gray." Reis clicked away while Carson's mind churned through this latest revelation. "Could the man you're remembering have had silver hair instead of blond?"
"It's possible, but I don't think so. And the clothes didn't seem right for Billy Wade. Jeans and a flight jacket."
Which gave her all the more reason to doubt Carson.
Reis shoved off the corner of the desk. "That could still be the father since retirees keep their leather jackets. But are you sure it was a man? Women have short hair, too."
One of Owens's old girlfriends on a jealous rampage?
Reis's talent for thinking beyond an obvious assumption was promising—and frustrating. How the hell could they rule anyone out? A military man or woman, active duty or retired, blond or gray, who happened to be right-handed. That could be half the flying community.
Nikki closed her eyes as if trying to recapture the image on the back of her lids. "If it's a woman, then she's really tall. It's all fuzzy, but I'm almost certain it's a man." Her lashes fluttered open as she shook her head. "I'm sorry. That's all there is."
Screw keeping his distance. Carson looped an arm around her waist, so grateful to have her warm and alive against him, he didn't bother to hide his feelings for her. "I think that's enough for one day, Reis. The medics wanted to admit her, but acquiesced if she would promise to rest."
The OSI agent pocketed his PDA again. "I hear ya." Halfway to the door, he stopped. "She's still staying with her parents, right?"
"Hello?" Nikki stiffened. "She is right here—"
"Major," Reis continued, "how about once you take her home we meet back on base and go over some personnel files to see what we can dig up?"
With the horror of Nikki almost dying still pounding through his skull, there was nothing he wanted more than to keep her in his sight. But with her stiff in his arms and her avoiding his eyes, he couldn't help wondering if she needed space, and God knows he wanted to dig in with Reis and find something, anything, to nail the bastard who'd done this to Nikki's life.
Besides, after hearing the truth about him she might well decide to steer clear of him and he would have to love her enough to let her go.
Love?
Damn.
What a helluva time to figure that out.
Her feet would never be warm again. Nikki wasn't so sure about her heart, either.
Sitting at her parents' kitchen table, she shook the can of whipped cream and squirted a hefty swirl into the steaming cup of hot cocoa her dad had made. What a crazy—confusing—afternoon. Finally, Carson was being open and honest with her, or at least he had been until the boat nearly killed them. He'd switched into protective mode again, dropping her off at her parents' with a toe-curling but too-brief kiss, before meeting up with Reis.
In her soul, she longed to grasp this new chance with Carson, but her emotions were all so surface level and exposed. She had to get this right—for both of them. She wanted to trust what he said about having his drinking under control, but he'd tossed so many negatives about the situation her way. She needed to be responsible enough at least to think through them.
Her lumbering father dropped into the chair across from her, silently drinking from his mug. Even more quiet than usual as he studied her across the wooden expanse, a new piece of furniture she'd helped her dad varnish after he'd bought it at the bare-wood store.
For an overprotective parent, these past days couldn't have been easy for him. She passed him the can of whipped topping. "Are you okay, Dad?"
"I should be asking you that, baby girl." His gaze rested on the raw ring around her wrist where the sail lines had immobilized her underwater.
"And I'm betting that because I'm your daughter, today was tougher on your ticker than it was on mine." She cupped her hands around the warm porcelain.
"You might be right." He set his World's Best Dad mug down slowly, his hand shaking ever so slightly but oh so tellingly. "I owe Scorch for saving your life."
"Are you okay with me seeing Carson?"
He nodded, suddenly overly preoccupied with how the can of whipped cream operated. "I'm not sure it would matter to you if I wasn't."
She sifted that around in her mind while sipping, chocolate and cream flooding her senses with childhood memories of other shared cocoa and late-night chats with her dad. She loved her father, no question, but she wasn't his little girl anymore. "It wouldn't change my mind, but it would matter."
"I know about his history." He rolled the can back across the table to her, his rugged teddy-bear face so compassionate she wanted to crawl in his lap and cry as she'd done during elementary school days.